Oh, how the young man hated his fate sometimes. Like now, when he was stuck in his bedroom while hearing that damned shower running and he had nothing he could do about it.

Normal people don't care when someone else in the house is taking a shower, right? Normal people...Could he still be considered normal after all the things that happened ? Was he normal when his mind was uncontrollably wandering to sinful fields where he was pinned to that damned shower wall, screaming in pain but also enjoying it so much that his clouded mind could only want more?

This was wrong. He was seriously thinking that his brain was damaged. Why, just why were those memories so alive in his mind when he tried so hard to make them go away? Why couldn't he act normal again around the tanned Spaniard he knew for so long? Why did he keep thinking of that night?

And why were his lower regions aching so bad? Slowly, his left hand reached lower, slightly brushing over the small bulge in his pants. He could feel it, but he had to make sure it wasn't just his sick imagination. He gasped and immediately removed his hand, covering his nether regions with a pillow when his mind was suddenly invaded by images of the Spaniard doing unspeakable things to his smaller body.

He shivered in denied pleasure, covering his eyes with a shaky hand, while using the other to grip tightly on the pillow, trying to release the tension that's been building up inside him, although he knew it was pointless. His mind kept wandering to the night that changed everything. Somehow, he hated himself for accepting the Spaniard's offer of taking a shower before he did, but at the same time, he could feel himself wanting another shower similar to it.

He knew that another shower would only make things worse, yet he couldn't stop himself thinking of those sinful hands roaming his body. He gripped the pillow tighter, before realizing that he was actually panting from the effort. He threw it away in anger and with a shaky hand, stroked himself through his light brown pants. He forced himself to think of something else, to remove the image of the Spaniard towering over him, but he failed miserably.

He removed his hand and turned around in anger, hiding his head in the comfortable sheets, while fighting the tears that threatened to escape.

How could he be so stupid? It could never be like before. Sure, Spain was an idiot sometimes, but the tormented man wished that he would act like that again. Now, the Spaniard he kept fantasizing about wouldn't even talk to him. It was probably his fault too, since he ignored the tanned man's attempts to reconciliation in the first days after the incident, but now he completely ignored the presence of the younger man.

And yet, here he was, crying in his pillows like a schoolgirl, angry that the man he wanted to hate but couldn't was teasing him, hating himself for the sinful fantasies, but wanting them so badly to come true. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn't even notice the shower stopped.

Nor did he see the Spaniard he was crying for at the entrance of his bedroom, wearing only a towel and with a playful smirk on his lips. He licked them when he saw the younger man panting, crying and trying to hide the obvious bulge in his pants. Was it his fault that the flustered Italian was in such a state?

Slowly walking over, he climbed on the bed hearing the smaller man gasp in surprise and shock. He chuckled darkly as the Italian tried to push him off, grabbing his hands into his bigger ones and pinning them together above the younger's head, using only one of his.

"Wh-what are you....ahh....d-doing?" the Italian stuttered in disbelief as the elder's hand dipped down, taking the place where the Italian's hand worked earlier. He licked the crook of his partner's neck, nuzzling it then purred in his ear.

"Mmm, Lovi, seems you've been naughty ~" he suddenly moved, turning the Italian around and straddling him. He looked at his face and the smirk on his lips faded for a moment. His partner was crying. But it wasn't the good kind. It was his fault. He made him cry.

"Lovi..." his moves became slower. He truly didn't want to hurt the younger man. It was enough what he had done that night. He couldn't take the pain on his face again. He started kissing on the younger's neck, immediately finding that spot that he knew would make the Italian mewl just like he did in the seconds that followed. But, even if Lovino did enjoy it, something in the back of his head told him to escape, to push the Spaniard away and run. He knew this couldn't be happening again, so he struggled, in a failed attempt to free himself. But what exactly was he trying to escape from?

The expression on the Spaniard's face changed into one of sadness and apology. "Lovi... I cannot express how sorry I am for what I have done to you. But please, mi tomate, don't deny me. Please. Te amo." he whispered the last words into the Italian's chest, nuzzling it with his head. He suddenly felt the younger male become tense.

Looking down at the Spaniard's face, he could see the honesty. He truly loved him. And if that was true, nothing else mattered. Sure, he was embarrassed and he considered it a sin, but he wouldn't mind sinning with the tanned man above him. He blushed even more if that was possible as the Spaniard started unbuttoning his shirt and slowly pushed it off his shoulders, leaving it underneath him. He then proceeded to leave butterfly kisses from his neck down his chest.

The Italian sighed. The tanned man loved him. He could feel it inside his heart, he could feel it in his words and on his lips. And he loved him back.

Happy tears started to form at the corners of his eyes, but he didn't let them flow on his cheeks, not yet. Stuttering a bit, he finally spoke "S-s-spain..." he caught the other's attention.

"Stop fooling around and kiss me." he commanded, his voice weak, but determined. The Spaniard smiled and went back up, gently placing his red lips to the younger male's trembling ones. Lovino smiled, kissing back and letting the tears of happiness finally flow on his cheeks.

He loved the Spaniard. He could never deny the warm feeling that formed in his heart and grew stronger by the minute. Knowing that, he didn't regret anymore what had happened in the shower weeks ago and he stopped feeling guilty because of his own needs. And he finally made up his mind.

My Brother:Romano is a cry babyMe:You fucking hoe my romano is not a crybaby neither is spain or italy they are just sensitiveMy Brother:Italy and romano are cry babies why do you like them?MeIE YOU HOE!!!!!!